<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>The Hall of Grace by Cor_Rodia</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26685940">The Hall of Grace</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cor_Rodia/pseuds/Cor_Rodia'>Cor_Rodia</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Mxfortune [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Demon &amp; Human Interactions, Demon/Human Relationships, F/F, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Genderqueer Character, Ghost Hunters, Lesbian Character, Monster Hunters, No Lesbians Die, Nonbinary Character, Other, Queer Themes, Queerplatonic Relationships, Urban Fantasy, with a splash of Southern Gothic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:46:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,767</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26685940</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cor_Rodia/pseuds/Cor_Rodia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Monster hunter Mercer and his half-demon apprentice Flint try to reason with a young hunter who has been sucked into one of the most disreputable parts of the monster hunting trade: ghost hunting.</p><p>This started with me desperately wanting to write Nancy Drew as a monster hunter and also a lesbian, and this is where we ended up.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Mxfortune [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1941865</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Movie magic.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>CW: guns, discussion of death</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The paper target fluttered in the breeze. Flint quelled the desire to go pin it more securely--it wasn't as if real monsters would stand still for them. Their aim was improving. Slowly. It would've been all right, except so many creatures wouldn't go down for anything less than a headshot.</p><p>An engine whined up the steep driveway, and Flint's shot went wide, nicking the outline of their paper foe. Flint lowered the gun, but kept the safety off, as they turned toward the strange car idling in front of the cabin. A woman, tall and rugged, got out and leaned on the hood. "What are you doing here?" she asked.</p><p>"I live here," Flint answered, edging toward the porch. "What's your excuse?"</p><p>"Impossible," the woman said, ducking into her car again. "I can't have the <em>wrong</em> isolated cabin in the middle of nowhere."</p><p>"You could, in fact." Flint hopped over the railing and set their back against the door. They were not worried yet, but they were ready.</p><p>The woman popped up again, a phone pressed to her ear. A ringer went off somewhere behind Flint, inside the cabin. Flint sighed and put the gun away. "You're looking for Mercer."</p><p>They went inside and took Mercer's phone off the kitchen table. When they came back out, the woman had come as far as the porch steps. Both listened to the ringing, her phone and Mercer's together. Flint recognized the name on the caller ID--Lee. A hunter. One of Mercer's closer friends, from what Flint could tell. The fact that she didn't seem to know about Flint was curious.</p><p>"He's in his office," Flint said as the woman canceled the call. "Reception is shit down there. I'll go get him."</p><p>"Okay," the woman said, her tone heavy with confusion but not seeming particularly worried about it.</p><p>At the risk of being rude, Flint did not invite her in, but did leave the door open. They checked to make sure they were out of sight before putting in the code for the cellar door. Locking it behind them, they went down into the bunker. "Hey," they said, sliding the gun across his desk. Mercer holstered it without looking up from his research. "Lee is here."</p><p>His head shot up. "Lee?"</p><p>"Yeah. She's outside."</p><p>Mercer stood, marked his place in the three books he had been cross-referencing, and strode toward the door. Flint followed.</p><p>Lee stood just outside the door, arms crossed. She broke into a smile as Mercer approached. "There you are, you damned hermit." She punched his shoulder jokingly. "Why the hell didn't you tell me you had an apprentice?"</p><p>"Ah," Mercer said, and did not elaborate. He waved Lee in and sat her in the cabin's bare excuse for a living room. "You want some coffee?"</p><p>"I make great coffee," Flint put in, because it was true. Mercer was happy with generic brands, smothered under milk and sugar, but Flint was trying to expand his horizons.</p><p>Lee smiled, creasing her leathery cheeks. "I wouldn't say no."</p><p>So Flint put on a pot, and the three of them sat and looked at each other.</p><p>Lee perched on the edge of the couch, worrying the worn fabric between blunt, square fingernails. "Nice place," she said, not even bothering to put any bite in the sarcasm. "Took me forever to find it."</p><p>"Why didn't you just call me?" Mercer asked.</p><p>She hummed, hedging. "I could use your help."</p><p>"And you think I'll say no."</p><p>"It's about Drew."</p><p>Mercer tossed his head back and groaned.</p><p>"Who is Drew?" Flint asked.</p><p>"She's my apprentice," Lee said. "Speaking of which--"</p><p>Mercer cut her off. "Tell me, please, that Drew is not in some sort of mortal peril."</p><p>"Not exactly, no."</p><p>"Then I'm sorry but I'm booked solid. Flint is all the apprentice I can handle at one time, and I would take them over Drew any day."</p><p>"What's wrong with her?" Flint asked.</p><p>Mercer opened his mouth, but Lee beat him to it. "There's nothing wrong with her. She's an exceedingly bright girl with a lot of potential."</p><p>Flint looked to Mercer; he did not attempt to refute the description. After a minute, he said, "She's so aggravating."</p><p>"Most people find her very sweet."</p><p>"<em>Too</em> sweet."</p><p>Lee laughed. "For God's sake, Mercer, she's barely seventeen. Cut her some slack."</p><p>"Youth is no excuse," he said, "to be that unbearably twee."</p><p>"Twee?" Flint echoed under their breath as they went to make up the coffee.</p><p>Lee's indignance carried her voice into the kitchen. "How can you hate her so much? She loves you."</p><p>"I know," Mercer said, "that makes it worse. Regardless, if you need help with Drew, I am hardly the one to give it."</p><p>"It's not a big deal," Lee said. "I just need someone to talk some sense into her. She's fallen for this girl she met at school, and she's getting into <em>ghost hunting</em>, of all things."</p><p>"Isn't she already a hunter?" Flint asked, setting down three mismatched mugs.</p><p>"Well, I don't usually have her out in the field," Lee said. "She's young, still. And this isn't real hunting, it's more like those reality shows. But live and on the internet, apparently. I tried to convince her that those kind of people are charlatans, but she's so charmed by this girl. She's got her believing she's actually recorded conversations with ghosts. More than once."</p><p>Mercer snorted. "What, did she also win the lottery in three different states?"</p><p>"I tried to tell Drew how rare real ghosts are, but she says her girlfriend is just that good." Lee made a face. "I think she's a bit of a prig, honestly, but I suppose the heart wants what it wants."</p><p>"If ghosts are so rare," Flint said around a sip of coffee, "how are there like half a dozen of those ghost shows?"</p><p>"Movie magic," Mercer said derisively. "Ninety percent of the 'hauntings' they investigate are just spirit impressions. They're not sentient; they're not even necessarily left by dead people. But the editors take what they can get and play with it to suit their needs."</p><p>"Or they wind up working with demons--accidentally or otherwise. Sometimes the demons are already there, feeding on the impressions, and get caught up in the production. But some help with the shows on purpose, for their own amusement or profit." Lee frowned into her half-empty mug. "So either Drew is wasting her time on one of the saddest, most manipulative hobbies ever invented, or she's going to end up breaking the law or worse. I was thinking you could tell her about your dad."</p><p>Flint glanced at him; he grinned back.</p><p>"My dad was a cameraman for an early ghost hunting show--one of the first, I think. That's how he met my mom. Her family was working a case and all the sudden this film crew shows up and starts talking to the walls. They were such a nuisance that Mom finally had to tell them off; the way Dad told it, she ripped them all a new one. Dad must have liked it, though, because he quit on the spot, and went into real hunting instead." His humor faded as he recalled the most salient bit of the story. "Everyone who stayed with that show was dead within five years. Apparently the host made some sort of contract with a demon, and things went south when he tried to break it."</p><p>"Which is exactly what I don't want to happen to Drew," Lee said.</p><p>Mercer sighed. "What's her phone number?"</p><p>Lee gave it to him, finished her coffee, and got back in her car. Mercer lingered on the porch after waving her off, scowling at his phone. Flint found a book and pretended to study. Mercer finally made the call, leaning in the open doorway, where Flint could hear just about everything.</p><p>"Drew, it's--"</p><p>"Mercer!" a girlish voice cried in delight. "It's been a long time!"</p><p>Mercer replayed a bit of the conversation with Lee, and then told his father's story. He included many more gory and discouraging details this time, though mostly because Drew seemed to be asking for them. "I don't remember how the rest of them died," he said, exasperated. "I think at least one wood chipper was involved. The point is, it wasn't good."</p><p>Drew neatly deflected his concerns and then somehow trapped him into pleasant chit-chat about his recent cases and Drew's accelerated track to college. At least, it seemed pleasant, though his grimace grew deeper every minute. Flint smiled behind the safety of their book.</p><p>"I don't care how nice this girl is," he said, once he managed to wrestle his way back on topic. "There's no such thing as a good ghost hunting show... Because, if it were real, it would be dead boring and a bit sad, or too violent and chaotic to film... Yes, Drew, come on. How long have I been doing this? Longer than you've been alive, practically... Yes, I am that old." He rolled his eyes skyward, and Flint coughed so they wouldn't laugh. "I'm not going to watch it," he said. "I don't need to see for myself... I'm serious, Drew. You're a smart girl, don't take pointless risks like this... Yes, I am worried about you. Mostly that you'll ruin your reputation." He snorted. "Of course Lee put me up to this, but that doesn't mean she's not right."</p><p>And then he was dragged into another quaint tangent about Lee, and apprenticeship, and Flint inevitably came up.</p><p>"Oh my god, that's awesome!" came the faint, energetic voice from within the phone. "When did that happen? <em>How</em> did that happen?"</p><p>"It's a long story," Mercer said, "and we're not getting into it now. Listen. If you're going to do this ridiculous thing, at least tell me you're prepared. What do you have for demon resistance?... I have an artifact, I'll send it to you... What do you mean, it's warded? Where is this happening?" He paced across the living room, his face pale. "You're kidding. That place is a death trap. And those wards probably haven't been kept up in decades. Who knows you're doing this?" He sighed. "No, I won't. But I want it on the record that I, a professional, think this is an objectively terrible idea, on top of being illegal."</p><p>"Where are they going?" Flint whispered.</p><p>Mercer held up a hand, too busy listening to respond. He did not look the least bit mollified by the assurances Drew was giving him. "Tell me again when this is happening?... No, I told you I'm not going to watch it. I just want to know... <em>Thank</em> you. I'll get you that artifact. And now you have my number, if you need it. Do not call me unless you or someone important is dying."</p><p>Flint could hear her laughing as Mercer hung up.</p><p>He threw the phone at the couch, where it bounced harmlessly. He then chugged the rest of his cold coffee and grimaced in Flint's general direction. "...How'd you like to go to the Hall of Grace?"</p><p>"Damn," Flint said. "The kids aren't messing around." The Hall was supposedly one of the most haunted places in the country. Southern witches, slaves or "Northern sympathizers," had been sent there during the Civil War, their magic drained before their executions. It was widely believed that witches were more likely to become ghosts, though Flint had no idea if this was true.</p><p>Mercer grimaced. "That place should've been cleansed ages ago. Hopefully they'll be lucky and nothing will happen, but I want to be close by, just in case."</p><p>"Shouldn't you tell Lee?"</p><p>"I don't think so. She'd put a stop to it, one way or another, and that would hurt things between her and Drew." He shrugged. "Drew and I don't have a relationship to hurt."</p><p>"You sure about that? You seem awfully protective."</p><p>"I'm a hunter," Mercer said, as if that were an answer, and turned away. "You don't have to come if you don't want to."</p><p>"Oh, I'm coming," Flint said, settling in with their book. They had a lot to learn about hauntings in a limited time. "I wanna meet this girl."</p><p>Mercer made a pained noise and retreated to his bunker.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The arch nemesis of feminism.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which we meet the Ghost Gals.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Flint controlled the playlist on the way down; they were slowly but surely teaching Mercer to appreciate "the weird stuff." Mercer seemed shut off, a sheet of glass around him as he white-knuckled the steering wheel. Flint got a smile out of him once in awhile, with enough ostentatiously bad harmonizing or mixed-up lyrics, but they couldn't quite break through his mood.</p><p>"What do you think is going to happen?"</p><p>He flinched. "I don't know. I'm probably being paranoid, but the Hall of Grace is exactly the kind of place that might attract dark entities. If I wanted to suck up some bad energy and fuck with some humans, I'd definitely go there. There might even actually be ghosts there, or spirit impressions that are strong enough to be dangerous."</p><p>"I didn't know that was possible."</p><p>"Well, they're harmless 99% of the time. But when there's a lot of them, created by that kind of intense trauma, they..." He tapped stiffly on the wheel, lips pursed. "They can overwhelm your emotions, which makes you vulnerable. That's why places that accumulate a lot of impressions, like hospitals, get cleansed regularly. But some genius convinced the government they might potentially glean something of historical significance from the impressions, so they won't get rid of them. They can't actually use the place with all those impressions around, so besides the occasional psychic, no one goes in. It just sits there and festers, tempting smartass college kids into trespassing."</p><p>"I believe the preferred term is 'urban exploring.'"</p><p>"I believe the preferred term is fucking illegal."</p><p>Flint rolled their eyes. "Really, Mercer? Any other breaking news?"</p><p>Mercer sighed through his teeth.</p><p>They pulled up to their motel, and Mercer immediately hunkered down with his laptop. Reputable records for the Hall of Grace were apparently a pain to find, but that hadn't stopped him trying. Flint took the car and went exploring.</p><p>They wandered through the small downtown, past stately old building and grungy little markets. College kids spotted the landscape like litter.</p><p>The campus was spread out liberally over several blocks. Flint stumbled across an outlying building plastered with event promotions and club fliers. A neon green sign, with neatly-drawn cartoon ghosts around the border, advertised the "Ghost Gals" livestream. Flint smirked and pulled up the site on their phone.</p><p>They watched a few minutes of an old stream, which was mostly a lot of floundering through pitch-dark woods while a girl yelled at the camera person to keep her in frame. Flint went over to the Gals' Twitter. The last twenty tweets were drumming up excitement for their next hunt at "one of the most haunted places in America!!! We'd tell you where, but you don't want us to get in trouble, do you? :P" From there, Flint found Drew's personal account. They sent her a message, trying not to sound like a cyber-stalker, or a real-life stalker, which was more accurate than Flint cared to think about.</p><p>Drew did not seem the least bit concerned about potential stalking. Her reply was immediate, and so long it required multiple DMs. The girl must type a record-breaking wpm. She invited Flint to get coffee some time. Flint casually insinuated they were free that night. And just like that, the apprentices had a date.</p><p>With nothing to do in the meantime, Flint got to the coffee shop pretty early. Drew was already there. They wouldn't have recognized her from the stream--the video hadn't picked her dark skin up well in the pitch-black of the forest--but they knew it was her. She looked just like her voice sounded. Petite, cute in a semi-nerdy, semi-posh way. She was bent over an enormous book; it might have been bigger than her torso.</p><p>Flint walked up, and Drew met them with a blazing smile. "Hi! You must be Flint! I'm so excited to meet you. Here, let me just get rid of this."</p><p>She closed the tome carefully, and Flint blinked at the cover. "An illustrated history of torture devices?"</p><p>"It's for a case!" Drew said brightly. "Lee has had me absolutely slammed with research recently. Not that I mind! It's more fun than the coursework. Do you want something to drink? I actually don't do caffeine but this is where the cool kids hang out."</p><p>Flint resisted the urge to ask how she knew. Clearly this girl had never been cool in her life. While they waited for their drinks, she chatted about what she'd been reading, earning several disconcerted looks from the barista.</p><p>"I'm so glad you got in touch with me," she said as they sat back down. "There aren't a ton of apprentices around, and none so close to my age! At least, I think we must be."</p><p>"I'm almost twenty-three," Flint said. "But I've never met another apprentice, so I thought this might be good."</p><p>"I'm not surprised! Mercer doesn't socialize much. How on earth did you two end up together?"</p><p>Flint gave her a sanitized version. She was still duly impressed.</p><p>"I can't believe you did a nest of ghouls on your first hunt! Lee wouldn't let me poke a ghoul with a ten-foot pole. Not that I would want to, but you know what I mean. You must be a natural!"</p><p>Flint wondered if this was some kind of dig at their relative lack of knowledge. They looked again at Drew's bright smile, pink sweater, and perfectly smooth pixie cut, and they let the suspicion go. "I hear you've been studying since you were a kid."</p><p>"Yeah! Lee thinks I'm gonna be a mage some day."</p><p>"A mage? Is that... different than a witch?"</p><p>"Yep! A witch is anyone who uses magic. Any human, at least. Then you've got warlocks, who <em>study</em> magic. And mages are the ones who <em>create</em> magic."</p><p>"What about wizards?"</p><p>Drew laughed. "A wizard," she said, with an adorable crinkle to her nose, "is a witch who doesn't want to be called a witch. AKA a misogynist, usually. Anyway, magecraft is interesting but I want to do field work too, you know? I can get my hands dirty!" She held up her fists like a boxer. Her fingernails were pastel-pink with white stencil flowers. "I staked a vampire once! But it was asleep, so it kind of felt like cheating, to be honest."</p><p>"Is that why you're doing the ghost hunting thing?" Flint asked.</p><p>Drew sighed through pursed lips. "Maybe? I mean, it's mostly because... Don't get me wrong, Maggie knows what she's doing, but I sometimes feel like she jumps into things? And like everyone is always telling me, ghost hunting can be dangerous. So I figured, I at least have the theory down, and if something were to go wrong, I want to be there! If anything happened to her I could never forgive myself. And doing the show is fun, even if it isn't real hunting, usually." She sipped her smoothie contemplatively. "You have got to see her in front of the camera, it's amazing. She really makes you feel like you're there! Of course, these days, I actually am there."</p><p>"Have you seen any actual ghosts?" Flint asked.</p><p>"Not conclusively," Drew said. "Maggs plays it up for the show, but I think even she realizes that mostly what we find are weak impressions. But I'm, like, the skeptic to her true believer, it makes the audience more invested! Did you know we broke two thousand views on our last livestream? Maggie was worried I'd make the show too technical, but people seem to like it. Before she just 'talked' to the 'ghosts' until the viewers got bored, but now I always finish with a cleansing ritual to get rid of the impressions. I guess if you don't get to see magic every day, even something simple like that is interesting."</p><p>Flint still felt a bit awed every time Mercer brought up his witch-light, but they didn't feel the need to mention that.</p><p>"This next stream should be something, though. I mean if we're going to find real ghosts anyplace, it would be the Hall, right?" She glanced around as if someone might be listening. "They say people have gone out there and never come back!"</p><p>"And you're not scared?" Flint said. At this point, it would hardly surprise them if Drew expressed a cheerful interest in doing study abroad with demons on the lower plane, but they were curious all the same.</p><p>"Me?" Drew laughed. She somehow managed not to sound like a dick. "Even if the rumors are true, I'm pretty sure there's nothing out there I can't handle. I've been training with Lee since I was eight, and Maggie and Lissa have been doing this kind of thing for years. It's gonna be fun!" She gave Flint a look. "You wanna tag along? It'll make the stream even more special if we have a guest that's an actual hunter!"</p><p>Flint paused, took a long pull from their coffee, and said, "Yeah, that'd be cool."</p><p>Mercer was going to kill them.</p><p>#</p><p>"This is a terrible idea," Mercer said feelingly.</p><p>"Oh, I know," Flint returned. "Maybe the worst idea I've ever had. But at least there's no kidnapping involved."</p><p>Mercer said nothing.</p><p>"On the bright side, it makes your being here much less creepy. You should probably thank me."</p><p>He sighed, flopping across the motel bed. "You're right. Thanks."</p><p>Flint laughed, caught off guard. "What is up with you? You're being so weird."</p><p>"...You're gonna judge me for this."</p><p>"Now I'm excited." Flint plopped down beside him; the bed squealed. "Spill."</p><p>Mercer growled into a pillow. "Ok. The thing about Drew is... I feel like I'm babysitting her. Which is obviously ridiculous. No one ever asked me to, even when she was actually a kid. She's smarter than me, and pretty capable even if she is green. But when it comes to her I just <em>do</em> shit like this. It's so fucking frustrating."</p><p>"Aww," Flint said, "you're like a shitty big brother."</p><p>Mercer was in danger of permanently damaging the pillow.</p><p>"Hey, ease up. It does makes sense. You know what this job is like, and she does kind of give off this aura of, like, who let this newborn puppy go to college. So you feel protective of her, it doesn't make you the arch nemesis of feminism. It's just a little bit gross." They held up two fingers, not too far apart, to demonstrate his level of grossness.</p><p>He laughed, though it seemed a little deflated. "I guess. At least now I can embarrass myself protecting you instead of her."</p><p>"You don't find your need to babysit me annoying?" Flint asked, one part teasing, two parts genuinely curious.</p><p>Mercer grinned. "It's not babysitting when it's you."</p><p>#</p><p>Flint sat on the hood of the car while Mercer dug through the trunk. Drew had texted them this meeting point, a crossroads in the middle of the woods. It was just the place to start a horror movie, Flint thought, drumming their heels against the tire. The girls were due to pick them up at sunset, and dusk was already setting in.</p><p>A van bumped down the old country road with all the grace of a drunk elephant. It pulled up beside them, and Drew jumped out. "Mercer! What are you doing here?"</p><p>Mercer barely had time to put his kit down before she captured him in a hug. He patted her back awkwardly.</p><p>"I wasn't going to let my apprentice go into the Hall of Grace without me," he said, not quite managing to hide the accusation in his voice. "Don't worry, I'll stay away from the camera. Far away."</p><p>"Don't be shy," teased the girl in the driver's seat. She held her phone out the open window. "It doesn't bite."</p><p>"Three people in front of the camera is plenty," said the other girl, stretching her legs up on the dash. "And we're wasting time. Everyone who's coming better get in the van."</p><p>Mercer and Flint followed Drew into the back as she did a quick round of introductions. Her girlfriend Maggie hardly look up from her phone, too busy drumming up excitement for the stream. Lissa, the driver/camera girl, was blond, friendly, and mildly interested in flirting with Mercer, though Flint thought her goal might have been to make him uncomfortable. If so, she was succeeding.</p><p>Drew saved him by pulling him into an energetic discussion about the amulet he had sent her. The heavy, ponderous piece of iron hung on a rawhide string around her neck. Drew admitted to having a "smidgen" of difficulty getting it to accept her, but Mercer checked it over and said she'd done fine.</p><p>Drew and Flint compared their kits for the evening. Mercer had packed for Flint, so they weren't sure what about half of their supplies were or did, but Drew recognized everything. She was actually way better at explaining things than Mercer, though the sheer unbridled enthusiasm she somehow managed for everything from iron-threaded gloves to bezoars was almost nauseating.</p><p>"Oh wow," she said, picking up a black stone about the size of her palm, the carved face of it inlaid with iron. "This is sort of like my amulet, right?"</p><p>Mercer shrugged. "They're both designed to disrupt demonic influences, but the token is more material than psychological."</p><p>"Did you understand that?" Flint asked, their tone somewhere between hopeful and exasperated.</p><p>"It stops demons from possessing things on the mortal plane, like this stops them from controlling the wearer's mind." She tapped the knot of iron on her chest. "I've never seen one of these! There's a spell that does the same thing, but it's one of the big, complicated ones." She flipped the stone back into Flint's bag.</p><p>She then gave them a tour of the ghost-hunting equipment, with no less enthusiasm but a lot less surety. "The infrared light is supposed to repel ghosts! This recorder is supposed to capture inaudible messages and change them to a frequency we can hear!" And so on.</p><p>"Have you decided what name you want to go by on the air?" Drew asked as they bumped down an even tinier dirt path.</p><p>While it was extremely unlikely someone from Flint's old life would see this, the internet was forever, so a pseudonym seemed prudent. Flint had not given it much thought beyond that. "Anything's fine. Perry, maybe."</p><p>"I love it," Drew said feelingly. "Mags, help me out, where do I know that name from?"</p><p>"The cartoon with the rock people."</p><p>"Or the cartoon with the platypus," Lissa added.</p><p>"No no, I think it's an internet thing," Drew said. "Ugh, I've got so much schoolwork in my brain there's no room for anything else."</p><p>"That's not a bad thing," Mercer said.</p><p>Maggie snorted. "You try being her girlfriend." </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. We can make a deal.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Flint learns a new trick.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: death, fire/burns, guns, bugs, cliffhangers</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>The van settled into a muddy little clearing. Mercer paced around the perimeter as the girls got ready. Flint was given a lantern, which was much less useful than their flashlight but had more ambiance. As the stream's start time crept closer, Drew and Maggie arranged themselves in front of the logo on their van.</p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Lissa fiddled with her phone. "All right," she said, backing into position, "Everyone ready?"</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Ready," Drew said, her smile a beacon in the dim forest.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Remember your lag time. I'm starting the stream... now." She gave a go-ahead nod and Maggie, poised and imperious, mugged for the camera.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Welcome, friends, and thank you for joining us for another episode of Ghost Gals. We're here just yards away from one of the most haunted buildings in the country. I'm your host, Maggie DeWitt, and with me is Drew Daley."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"What an exciting night!" Drew said with all the gravitas of a five year old on a sugar high. "Of course our dear friend Lissa is behind the camera, and we have a few special guests joining us as well!" She nodded over at Flint. "Would you like to introduce yourself?"</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>The camera shifted toward them, and Flint momentarily panicked, flashing a peace sign like they always did for pictures. They cleared their throat. "Hey. I'm Perry, an apprentice monster hunter and a friend of Drew's." This seemed like the right thing to say, though it was overstating things a bit. Drew beamed at them. "I've never seen a ghost before, so I'm looking forward to this educational experience."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Off in the shadows, Mercer was struggling not to laugh. But he sobered up quick when Drew said, "And we also have Perry's mentor with us tonight! Mercer, care to say hello?"</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"No," he said, dodging into the trees as the camera tried to pin him down. "I'm only here to make sure none of you die."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"All right, Lissa, let it go," Maggie said, and the camera returned to her. "We're ready to head in. While we will be obscuring our exact location, feel free to speculate--but remember, we are doing this to protect ourselves."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>The five of them headed into the woods, Mercer trailing behind. As they walked, Lissa fed them questions from the chat. Maggie gave a few vague hints about The Hall of Grace, Drew offered suggestions on spirit-related literature, and even Flint took a handful of queries about monster hunting.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>They stepped into the misty light of a moon obscured behind silvered cloud. There had once been a lawn around the Hall, but underbrush had claimed most of it, and weedy trees had grown up as far as the building itself. Branches fed into cracks in the gleaming white stone, and their shadows on it were like long, skinny fingers.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Lissa held her phone at an angle, keeping the more distinctive bits of architecture out of view, as they cut around the side of the massive building. Maggie led them to a window, its plywood covering already forced off and all the glass broken out. One by one, they slipped inside.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>After the brief moonlight, it seemed pitch-dark, even with the lanterns. Maggie ominously narrated their movements as she brought them deeper in. Drew told, vaguely, of the lore behind the place, the suffering and what it had left behind. The cavernous rooms echoed with their whispers and their footsteps.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>As Flint's eyes adjusted, they found a little comfort in the graffiti, the bits of litter; it was near the only sign that anyone had ever been here. Apart from discolored patches on the walls or holes were appliances had been torn out, there was almost nothing but cobwebs and dust. They remembered the rumors Drew had told them, and wondered what had become of the taggers and squatters. Probably nothing. Probably there were squatters in the Hall right now, hiding from the weird kids with the camera.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"I see something," Drew whispered, part-way down a long marble hall. Flint thought she was jumping the gun a little; they'd only been inside a few minutes, where was the suspense? But then they saw it, too.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>It moved fast, a haze or a shadow darting along the wall. It stopped, held, faded away. A moment later it came racing down the hall again the exact same way.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Where only a mild, not unpleasant tension had been before, Flint felt a weight of fear drop into their stomach. Dread flowed up their throat, aching. They thought they might throw up. The girls were still, silent, staring at the apparition as if it were death itself.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Shit, that's strong," Mercer grumbled, and the spell was broken. Maggie went toward it, brandishing her frequency recorder, while Drew questioned the unresponsive shadow in her normal cheerful way, though she seemed a bit more subdued than before.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"What is your name?" she asked. They heard nothing, but Maggie fiddled with the dials on her device and played the recording back. There was a soft, unintelligible murmur, not what you could call an answer or even a voice.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Did you hear that?" Maggie asked, more toward the camera than Drew. "It sounded like 'Sarah.'"</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Drew looked dubious, but not dubious enough to contradict Maggie on-air. She waited until the blurry shape was racing toward them again, and asked, "Sarah, what happened to you here?"</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>No change in the pattern--the shadow hit the end of its run, paused, disappeared. Flint, working against the heavy dread in their gut, crept up to Drew, close to where the shadow would stop.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Did you get anything?" Drew asked.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"I don't think so." Maggie played back what she had. It sounded like nothing, and yet-- "Ask something else," Maggie said.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"No." Flint fell against the wall, hands clasped over their ears. "Leave her alone."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Mercer stepped toward them, brows creased. His mouth opened, he was talking, but Flint couldn't hear anything over the scream. It filled the hall, the building, the whole of the night. The apparition rounded the corner again, but this time it was more than a smudge of shadow. Colorless, but otherwise perfectly, terribly real.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>The woman ran, tattered skirt tripping up her torn and bloodied feet. Her hands were bound. Hopeless as it was, she ran. Escape was so close, so close--</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>She staggered, dropped to her knees, a dark bloom staining her chest. Her scream shook the earth; Flint squeezed their eyes shut; it faded away.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Something took Flint's hands away from their ears; it took them a moment to realize it was Mercer, holding their wrists. "You okay?"</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Flint shook their head, eyes still closed. They felt the draft when Mercer left them, his boots clomping off down the hall. "I don't know what's happening," he spat, "but I am cleansing that thing right now. Drew, get everyone back."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"The show's barely started," Lissa complained.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"And I'm not done with this one yet." Maggie moved between Mercer and the impression, as if she could stop him. "There's obviously something special about it, the way they're--"</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Flint couldn't hear any more; they curled up into their knees, arms clutched around their head, trying to ignore the screaming. Special? Was it special, to see death twisting a woman's face? "Cleanse it." Their voice was choked with tears they couldn't remember crying. "Please."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Drew knelt down, her voice soft. "What's wrong? What did it do to you?"</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Do?" Flint lifted their head, confused and heavy and lost. "Nothing. Look at it."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Drew looked, and Flint could tell by her face that they were not seeing the same thing. "It's only an impression," she said, rubbing their shoulder gently. "I know the feeling it's giving off is... potent, but it can't hurt you."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Mercer and Maggie were still arguing--while Lissa got it all on camera--and the apparition continued its cycle. Running, getting shot, dying. Flint flinched. Drew looked back at them, and something changed in her face. "Flint," she whispered, "what happened to your eyes?"</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>They reached up, wiping tears that felt like they belonged to a stranger. "What do you mean?"</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"They're yellow." Drew leaned closer, rubbing one thumb under Flint's eye, catching the last of the tears. "Meeercer," she called hesitantly; the hunter turned their way.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Tell your bastard girlfriend--" Mercer's rant petered out. He rushed to Flint's side, taking their face between his hands.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Lissa turned toward them, but Drew jumped up and got in front of the camera. "Liss, pause the stream."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"No way," Maggie said. "We're just getting started. If that fucker wants to do an illegal cleansing, we'll move to another room, but we are going to finish this."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Chat wants to know if Perry's okay," Lissa said. "And also what the fuck is happening."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Flint." Mercer's hands were like stone, his face set and dangerous; a flutter of fear, almost hidden under the impression's consuming dread, curled through them. "Turn it off."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"...What?"</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>The scream split the room again, and Flint cringed; Mercer took away his hands. "You're not doing this on purpose," he said, and it was neither a question nor a comfort.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Doing what?" Flint asked as the shriek died away. But as the sound faded, they heard something new. A clattering of many feet, or a laugh, or both.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Jesus!" Lissa yelped, as a flood of black beetles surrounded them. They spilled from the walls, the floorboards, the ceiling. A swarm covered the hall, clicking, chittering, a writhing sea of darkness.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Turn the camera off!" Drew shouted, but Flint didn't look to see if Lissa obeyed.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>The bugs converged, piling over each other, shifting into one black, shimmering mass. The pillar of beetles towered up higher and higher, meeting the ceiling. They coalesced into a shape, tall and lanky, wrapped in a charcoal skin. Flint traced the path of the beetles wriggling within.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>The thing, the demon, turned to Flint and Mercer, its eyes alight with fire. "You're right, hunter." His voice was like an oil slick, but somehow distant, as if it was only an echo of something far away. "Your demonkin pet needed a bit of help to activate their truesight. I was happy to oblige, or course, but I'm afraid I can't allow you to cleanse this place. It belongs to me. All these wisps of spirit, small as they are, belong to me."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"You can't own that," Flint said in the vague direction of the impression. "You cannot own memory."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>The demon laughed, and his mouth was a pit of beetles. "Oh, little one. How much you have to learn."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"We're so sorry to intrude," Drew interrupted, charming as usual. The only sign anything was wrong was her stillness, the rigid set of her spine and her smile. "We didn't know you had claimed the Hall. We'll just be on our way."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"So soon?" The demon knelt; even so, it was taller than Drew by a good margin, even ignoring the horns. She didn't step back, but she looked as if she would like to. "Think of your audience. Aren't they enjoying the show?" He smiled at the phone in Lissa's shaking hands. "You have quiet the devout following. Perhaps they would like to join the party." His echo-voice dripped with suggestion; Flint almost got up and went toward him, but Mercer held them fast.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Lissa," Drew said sharply, but the girl didn't seem to hear. Drew lunged, yanking the phone from Lissa's hands. The demon laughed in his surprise, a sound to unravel the mind.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Everyone stay where you are," Drew commanded, pointing the camera away. "We'll handle this." She tucked the phone in her pocket and looked back at the demon, who appraised her coolly. With studied primness, she swept a hand across her forehead, bringing her hair into order.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Flint shook off Mercer's grip and stood up. Beetles crawled up their legs idly. They were going to go back Drew up, but Maggie got there first. Though she was more </span>
      <span>behind</span>
      <span> Drew than beside her. "Why did you end the stream?" she hissed. "They could have sent help."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"She's right," the demon said, returning to his full height. His thick black horns scraped the ceiling; he shrunk himself slightly to fit, dozens of beetles scrambling out from the mutable casing of skin. "After all, the more the merrier! But I suppose we must make do." He clapped his long, thin hands together, nails clacking like the march of his beetles. "Usually I have to go out for dinner; it's so rare that it comes to me."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Wait," Maggie said frantically, "you don't want to do that. We could be useful to you."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"I'm sure." The demon's tone was ruthlessly patronizing. It reminded Flint of their father; they wanted to retch.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"We can make a deal." This was the last straw Maggie had, and clearly she was going to grasp it for all she was worth.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Maggs," Drew gasped, "you can't--"</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Maggie shoved her aside. The demon's smile grew the more she tried to bargain. Flint stood, barely breathing, waiting for the moment he would swoop down and inhale her like a bird with a bug.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Mercer's hand moved ran up Flint's back, his pointer finger tapping on their shoulder blade. Tap, press, tap: R. Tap, tap, press: U. Press, tap: N.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>He didn't have to tell them twice. Flint darted forward, grabbed Drew by the back of her houndstooth jacket, and pulled her down the hall. A flash turned the darkness a blinding, fiery white. Heat prickled on Flint's back. They kept running.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Drew was faster; soon Flint gripped her arm more for their own motivation than hers. They didn't look back, not for the blast or the shouting or the gunshots. Drew swore a blue streak that sounded queer in her sweet little voice. "It's not even here," she panted. "It's going to kill us and it's not even fucking here."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>They stumbled into a foyer. Huge windows stretched up the front of the building; moonlight glinted on the hundreds of broken frames like a spider's web. Flint stopped, gasping, and dug into their pack. They tuned out the pleading sobs which whispered all around them. Lines of tortured spirit impressions filled the room, caught in their loops of despair.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>There had to be a way to stop the demon. Like Drew had said, it did not even seem to really be there; the beetles, the skin, the fire, were only a puppet. The demon likely piloted it from the lower plane, feeding on the spirit impressions to sustain it. Destroy the puppet, or cleanse the impressions: the latter would be easier, but if the demon had power to spare, he would have plenty of time to kill them all before he had to retreat.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Flint had never seen anything quite like this, but at least in terms of inventory, they were prepared. They blessed Mercer for his paranoia. They hoped he wasn't dead.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Drew stood beside them, panting, clutching the artifact that hung around her neck. "You're a demon?" she said when she got her breath back.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Half," Flint returned, distracted. They handed her two canisters of holy water. "Cleanse the room, please, I can't fucking think."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Drew looked at the pale shapes which, to her, were nothing but harmless blurs. She splashed a bit of water onto her hand and moved down the line, dripping and chanting. But before she could complete the rite, the doorway they had come though shook, and the demon stepped through.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>He grew, swelling to fit the space, until he stood almost two stories. "Uh-uh-uh," he said, herding Drew away from the impressions with a sweep of his hand. "We talked about this."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>The skin of his right arm and shoulder had burned away, the edges smoldering a ferocious red; beetles scrambled to rebuild his missing hand. His foot was also scorched, a fragile pillar of dead insects. Ash fell off him with every step. Mercer's flashbang, made with holy oil, had done its work.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Drew spun toward him, her canister raised like a weapon. The demon laughed. "Child, you know that will only serve to make me angry."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Water of life, touched by the hand of heaven," she chanted, darting back as the demon took a long, languid stride after her. "Purify all be the power of restoration. Protect from all corruption and defilement--"</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>The wailing of the spirits eased, their forms subsiding into themselves. Flint could no longer make out their faces.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Enough," the demon spat, and he plucked Drew up into the air. She kicked and struggled, spraying holy water wherever she could reach. The demon's hand and arm smoked, but he grinned as if the pain was nothing and did not drop her.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Flint took aim, shooting twice into the corroded skin of his arm. He hissed, surprised, and turned to glower down at them. Drew wriggled free, clinging to the demon's wrist.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Is this how you treat your elders, little one?" the demon hissed, sickly sweet. "If you were not such a rare thing, I would teach you some manners." He sighed and glanced down at Drew, about to make a leap for the ground. "I shall have to content myself with only one lesson." He lifted her up, toward his smiling hole of a mouth.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Drew shot a stream of holy water between his beetle-teeth. The demon sputtered and fell back, crashing into the balcony. Drew jumped, catching herself on the broken railing, and darted off down a hallway. The demon snarled and stretched out his long arm after her.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Flint ran forward, clutching the stone token Mercer had packed them. They had no idea if this was going to work.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Fine. Perfect. Not dead.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which impressions are made and unmade.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: burns, serious injury, bugs, mention of guns, mention of death</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div class="">
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Flint smashed the sigil into the demon's dead leg. Beetles tumbled down over their arm, pattering on the floor like a hail storm. The demon's knee buckled. He shrieked, and this time it was not Flint's imagination: the floor shook.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>They tore their arm free of the collapsing limb and dove for the other ankle, but the sigil slid off the demon's ashen flesh, leaving only a glowing red smear.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Keening loud enough to split their eardrums, the demon clawed at Flint. They tumbled out of the way, under the remaining stump of his right leg. Beetles rained down as the demon hobbled after them, gripping the balcony. "You traitor cur," he spat. "A curse upon the fiend who spawned you! I will drag you into the pit."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Flint drew their iron knife. "If you killed Mercer, I will cross the planes and kill you there, too."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>The demon lunged; Flint ducked under his hand and slammed their knife down, opening his shin from knee to ankle. Flint stuck the token through; the beetles scuttling within came sluicing out the gap. The demon howled, crumbling to the floor as his skin emptied.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>There was a cheer from the balcony. Drew skipped over the rent floorboards. "Peace be upon this place," she chanted, panting, as she scrambled down the stairs, "and all spirits within. Let everything that lingers here be at rest and disperse."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>The beetles were already dispersing, at least the ones that still could. Flint spat a dead bug from their mouth and shook a few more out of their sleeves. They could no longer see or hear any spirit impressions; only the demon, in its spent skin, wailed hollowly.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Drew threw her arms around them. "You did it!"</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Huh," Flint said. It occurred to them that they were shaking. They did not try to get up, but stayed half-sprawled on the floor, though they did kick the limp remains of the demon off their legs. "Do you have any more holy water?"</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Drew emptied her second canister onto the gray mass. It smoked and shriveled; the howl shrunk to a distant grumble. "I'm out," she said, poking at the demon's remains with her toe.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"I've got some," croaked a voice. Mercer hobbled into the foyer. He was red, but not badly burned, that Flint could see. The cuff of one coat sleeve was singed, and he'd hidden that hand in his jacket. He dropped his pack beside Flint, who dug through it and handed out what they found. Mercer and Drew dissolved the last of the demon's puppet.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Maggie?" Drew asked softly, not meeting Mercer's eyes. "And Lissa?"</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Your girlfriend ran," Mercer said. "She's probably out in the woods somewhere. Your camera girl is alive, but we should get her to a hospital."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Shit," she said, and Mercer smiled. "What?" she asked.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Nothing." Mercer stooped to help Flint up. Dead beetles spilled haphazardly from their lap. "You okay?"</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Me?" Flint said. "Fine. Perfect. Not dead."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Fucking miracle, that," Mercer said. "Ready, Drew?"</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>She nodded, falling into step beside them. They stumbled through the dark bowels of the Hall with only Flint's flashlight, having lost or broken the others in the fight.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Mercer," Drew said faintly.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Yes?"</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"If I ever do anything like this again, please just shoot me."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Mercer bared his teeth in what, at some other time, might have been a smile.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Oh come on, Mercer," Flint said. "If someone shot you every time you made a bad decision, how dead would you be?"</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Extremely," Mercer admitted. "And it sure as hell wouldn't have taken me 'til I was seventeen to get there."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>#</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Lissa was missing her foot and half the calf; Mercer had staunched the blood flow before he went after the demon. She was mostly conscious, though that was probably more curse than blessing. Mercer carried her out to the van.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Maggie was already there, leaning against the hood, nursing her burns. She looked up, silvered in the moonlight. One arm and the side of her face were burned, and she was missing a good chunk of hair.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Drew dug the keys from Lissa's pocket. She held them up, staring at Maggie. "If you'd had these," she asked, "would you have left us here?"</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Start the van, Drew," she returned, and climbed into the back without sparing a word or a glance for Lissa. Mercer sat in the first row, holding Lissa steady; Flint sat up front with Drew. She was calm, her face set and determined, and she drove fast. They left the Hall of Grace in silence.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>The emergency room took Lissa back immediately; the rest sat down to wait, though Maggie kept harassing the nurse on duty. Finally, she and Mercer went to get their burns checked out. Flint and Drew settled into the beige-and-foam-green waiting room with cups of sub-par coffee. Apparently Drew was doing caffeine that night.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"It's a good thing your eyes changed back," Drew said in an undertone, glancing around the room. It was almost three in the morning and sparsely populated, but it only took one person freaking out to give them trouble.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"What did they look like?" Flint asked.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Yellow. And they picked up the light, like a cat's. It was... noticeable."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"I </span>
      <span>am</span>
      <span> registered," Flint said. They hadn't been before, but Mercer took care of it for them. Better to put up with some restriction than get caught an unregistered demonkin. Though Mercer had tactfully left out the fact that Flint's demon half came from an incubus. The watchlist for sex-demonkin was about as easy to access as the sex offender registry, and almost as damning, whether the people on it had done anything or not. "I need to ask Mercer what that thing did to me."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"It could have been telling the truth. Demonkin do often inherit truesight, but I didn't know it would effect how you saw impressions. I have a truesight spell I could've been using all this time."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Trust me," Flint said with a shudder, "seeing and hearing them better is not an advantage."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Drew rubbed circles into their shoulder. She, too, was fairly ragged and shaken, but Flint couldn't help but admire her composure. "I've never seen Mercer scared like that," she said. "That's when I knew something was really wrong, when he saw what had happened to you. He cares about you a lot."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Flint had not realized Mercer was scared, least of all for them. They tried not to envy the way Drew could read him. Maybe it was not that she was better at people than them; maybe it was only that she'd known him longer.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"So," she said, and took a pull from her paper cup. She made a face. "I guess now we've got a demon for an enemy. A demon strong enough to do all that without even leaving the lower plane."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Hopefully losing the Hall will be a blow to his power. And even though there wasn't a lot of him there, we probably bloodied his nose at least a little."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Drew cupped her hands around her lukewarm coffee. "Should we be worried?"</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"We're monster hunters," Flint said. They didn't say whether this was meant as confirmation or comfort; they weren't entirely sure themself.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>She smiled. "True. Thanks, you know. For coming. I owe you, like, a hundred favors at least."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Well," Flint drawled quietly, "I can think of one."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>#</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Flint picked her up Friday afternoon at the start of a long weekend. Drew brought a stack of fat books with her, tossing them into the back with her bag. "Roadtrip!" she said, bouncing in her seat.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Flint laughed. "Sure is."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"No Mercer?" She looked around the car, like he might be hidden in the backseat.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"He's busy." Which was not wrong, though misleading. Flint had thought about asking Mercer for help with this, but they had a feeling it would've just made things worse. "Besides, my Auntie's house isn't that big."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Is it safe for you to go back there?" Drew asked.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>They shrugged. For all intents and purposes, the person who had grown up in that house was dead. If someone happened to recognize them, they could claim to be a relative. "I think it's fine."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>They drove for hours, taking turns. When she wasn't driving, Drew studied her tome on medieval torture, sometimes reading the "funny" parts aloud, until it made her carsick. It was the kind of long ride that could've been excruciating, especially with such a new friendship, but Drew was like an antidote to awkwardness. She had good music opinions, she excitedly pointed out any dogs, cows, or horses they passed, and she made pleasant conversation with the GPS even when it was wrong.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"I want to make a tiny clone of you," Flint said, "and keep her in my pocket."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Oh, I would be great at that! I wonder if there's a career in being a pocket pet?"</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Flint smiled, curled up in the passenger seat, and went to sleep.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>It was past midnight when they reached Flint's city. The familiar streets were strangely disorienting; one minute Flint knew exactly where they were, the next they couldn't remember what short cut they wanted or which direction to turn for the waterfront. Eventually they found their way down to the river. Flint put on their disguise--a snapback they'd bought at a gas station along the way--and led Drew onto the street.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Around here, somewhere..." they said, looking back and forth. They'd spent a lot of time deliberately not thinking about that night. The memories were malleable, fuzzy, as if they'd been stuffed deep into the pockets of their mind and come out squashy and lint-covered.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Are you sure we're going to find something?" Drew asked, merely curious, not sounding at all as if she would mind if their trip turned out to be a wild goose chase.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Pretty sure."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"How do you know?"</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Flint glanced down into the canal, gray water rushing softly on. Mercer's mimic was down there somewhere, rotting away. "I asked Mercer about impressions made by the living," they said, "because I didn't really get how it worked. Apparently it's happened to him before. He said it's about intensity. A moment so good, so bad, so </span>
      <span>something</span>
      <span> that it captures a piece of you. So it's like, on some level, you're stuck there." They scratched the back of their neck. Maybe Flint's impressions had kept the part of them that knew where the damn thing had happened. "There's no, like, science behind it, but Mercer said he felt better after his impressions were cleansed."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>They walked a little ways down the waterfront, peering down streets and alleyways. "I'm going to turn my truesight on," Flint said irritably, "to make sure I don't miss anything."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Do you want me to use my spell, too?" Drew asked.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>They considered it for about a quarter of a second. "Please don't."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Drew nodded. Flint watched their reflection in her eyes as they tapped into their truesight, the switch in their head that the demon had kindly unlocked for them. Their eyes turned gold, their pupils thinned to a slit; they had never seen themself like this before.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>They heard something.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Flint stalked into the alley, Drew on their heels. There, kneeling in the grime, was the shadow of themself. It shook and sobbed, running spectral hands over something long gone. "Carson," it whispered, wretched. "Carson. Carson."</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>The shadow faded, then reappeared a few feet away, struggling against an invisible force. It ducked, twisted, and found itself free. Flint imagined they could hear the crack of bone.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>At least it was only them. The impression fell to its knees, whispering the name again and again, but there was nothing of Carson left here. His death had been too much of a surprise to be traumatic; for him it was over in an instant. For Flint, it was never over.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Do you want me to do it?" Drew asked gently. She held her canister of holy water like an offering.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Please," Flint said. They had thought inviting Drew was a whim; there was no reason they couldn't do the ritual themself. But standing here, watching that tortured piece of themself replay this over and over and over, they couldn't find the words to end it.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Drew took care of it beautifully, as always.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Flint breathed in, filling themself with the smell of wet, decomposing cardboard and city river. They had hoped it might feel a little... more, but the fact that they felt anything at all was interesting. Better than they had any right to expect.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>The two apprentices left the alley. Flint turned away from the car, walking a little farther up the waterfront. Drew pointed ahead. "Is that...?"</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>It was. Another shadow stood, frozen, facing away from them. This one didn't move, much; it went from being slightly hunched, dragging the invisible corpse of Carson, to standing straight and rigid like a deer in headlights. Flint blinked at the wall of the canal, almost expecting Mercer to be there, as their impression stared into the empty heart of his gun.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>"Two at once?" Drew said under her breath, moving toward it. Her manner was gentle but business-like. Soon this impression, too, had faded into the night.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>A weight rolled over Flint, stripping away the part of them that longed for what they had lost. They felt clean.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>Curiosity shone on Drew's face, but she asked no questions. She threaded her arm through theirs, leaning warmly into them. They walked along the river a while, eventually wandering back to the car. Flint's Auntie was waiting for them.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div><div class="">
  <p></p>
  <div class="public-DraftStyleDefault-block public-DraftStyleDefault-ltr">
    <p>
      <span>And tomorrow, Flint would go home.</span>
    </p>
  </div>
</div>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>